


Snapshots of Time XVIII

by hummerhouse



Series: Snapshots of Time [18]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Captured, Escape, Humor, M/M, OT4, Sexual Humor, Turtlecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7215889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummerhouse/pseuds/hummerhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: The TMNT are not mine. No money being made.<br/>Word Count: 2,096 OT4 TCest Drabble sets 2k3<br/>Rated: R Raph/Leo/Raph, Raph/Don, Leo/Mikey<br/>Momentary glimpses of life, captured and placed into an album.</p>
<p><b>!!~~</b>Winner in the Universal TMNT Fanfiction Competition 2016: (Mature Ballot) Funniest Lewd Comedy 3rd Place<b>~~!!</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshots of Time XVIII

** His Priority **

            Donatello looked up from the experiment he was conducting when the lights began to flicker off and on.  As a ninja he was used to surprises and that’s probably what saved him from spilling acid on his fingers.

            “Donny, Donny, Donny, Donny . . . .” Michelangelo repeated incessantly from the doorway.

            Turning, Don saw that his little brother was flicking the light switch to get his attention.  “Stop that!  I’m working with _acid_ Mikey.  You know you aren’t supposed to bother me when I’m in my lab.”

            Appearing unfazed by the chiding, Mikey said, “Master Splinter wants you out in the lair.”

            Without giving the genius time to ask questions, Mikey took off.  He had two additional brothers to round up and knew that dropping their father’s name would keep Don from returning to his mad scientist routine.

            Since he hadn’t seen either Leonardo or Raphael for a few hours, Mikey went first to the dojo.  He wasn’t quite there when he realized it was too quiet.  Just to be on the safe side, Mikey visually verified his conclusion that the dojo was empty.

            The televisions were off so Mikey knew neither of his errant brothers were there.  The elevator was nearby, so Mikey took a quick ride up to the garage, thinking he’d at least find Raphael.

            As soon as the elevator doors slid open, Mikey knew his second guess was wrong.  The lights in the garage were off and there wasn’t even a whisper of sound.

            Wasting no time, Mikey descended to the lair and immediately bounded towards the staircase, taking the risers two at a time.  The door to Raph’s room stood open and a quick peek inside told him it was unoccupied.

            Striding down the corridor, Mikey approached Leo’s room next.  That door was closed and Mikey knew that he’d bagged his oldest brother.  Leo would surely know where Raph had gotten to.

            He was within a few feet of the door when Mikey heard churring.  In stereo.

            Limbs tangled, Leo and Raph rolled across the former’s bed, tongues warring for supremacy.  The sound of the door slamming open jerked them both upright, hands still groping at one another.

            “Stop what you’re doing,” Mikey blurted, entering the bedroom without knocking.  “Tuck yourselves in and come downstairs right away.”

            The pair he’d interrupted began spluttering at him, but Mikey was gone before any of their words became coherent.  After some awkward fumbling to pull themselves together, Leo and Raph exited the bedroom.

            “Damn that little nut case,” Raph cursed as they headed downstairs.  “If this ain’t important, I’m gonna beat him silly.  He’s worse than a cold shower.”

            Leo didn’t bother to answer.  He was looking across the lair in the direction of the kitchen, where he saw that the dinner table had been set with a white cloth and their finest set of mismatched dishes.

            “What the hell?” Raph asked rhetorically as he too spotted the fancy spread.

            Master Splinter and Donatello were already seated.  When he sons drew near, Master Splinter waved them towards chairs and said, “Please sit down.  It is time for dinner.”

            Slightly stunned, the pair dropped into seats.  Mikey was not in sight, but banging from the direction of the kitchen told them where he could be found.

            Looking around at the gleaming silverware and the lone flower drooping in a vase at the center of the table, sudden understanding dawned on Leo.

            Glancing at Don, Leo asked, “He’s been watching the Food Channel again, hasn’t he?”

            “Yep.”

 

** Truth **

            Raphael swore he could feel the bruises forming on his face and body.

            The Purple Dragon thug who had been beating on him stepped back, breathing hard.  “Talk you freak!  Where’s your hideout?”

            Chained to a solid metal chair, Raph had absolutely no range of motion other than his head.  He lifted it to sneer at his interrogator.

            “I don’t know what’s uglier, your face or your mama’s,” Raph growled.

            Drawing his fist back for another blow, the thug was interrupted as one of his fellow gang members entered the room.

            “Save the skin on your knuckles Zeke,” the second man said.  “Master Hun phoned, he said forget trying to beat anything out of this one.  He said he had hold of this Raphael once before and the freak wouldn’t talk.”

            “So what’s he want us to do?” Zeke asked, an ugly grin crawling across his mouth.  “Hey Spate, I got an idea.  Let’s use it for target practice.”

            Spate shook his head, holding out one of his hands to show something to his buddy.  Despite the puffiness blurring his vision, Raph could see it was a small leather kit.

            “Master Hun said we use the formula on him,” Spate said, pulling open the zipper that held the kit shut.  Inside was a filled hypodermic needle.  “A dose of this special blend will having him singing in no time.”

            “I don’t sing no place but the shower,” Raph told them.

            Spate lifted the hypo, tapping it with one finger before squirting a little of the liquid into the air.  “Wouldn’t want you to die from an air bubble before this truth serum does its work,” he taunted, stepping up next to Raph.

            Though Raph tried to yank his arm away from the man, the chains were too tight.  In another second he felt the pinch of the needle entering his skin and something burning its way into his vein.

            “One of the Master’s chemist friends made this just for him,” Spate said as he moved back.  “It works fast.  Got a weird way of winding into your brain and making you answer questions even when you don’t want to.  In fact, the harder you struggle, the stronger it gets.  So go ahead and fight it.”

            Raph could already feel himself growing lightheaded.  He didn’t know how that was going to make him give away his most closely guarded secrets, but at least it was taking away the pain from his beating.

            “There you go,” Spate murmured.  “You’re looking more relaxed already.  Where is your hideout?”

            The words echoed in his head, ringing lightly like the wind chimes that April had hung on the front porch at Casey’s farmhouse.  Raph had always found that sound to be relaxing.

            Spate frowned.  “Huh.  Guess it takes a little longer on him than on a human,” he said to Zeke.

            “Try again,” Zeke said.  “He ain’t pulling on the chains no more.”

            “Raphael,” Spate said, trying to get the turtle’s attention.  “Where is your hideout?”

            Those words were garbled by the time they reached Raph’s brain and he ignored them.  He was trying to concentrate on his situation and the fact that he’d supposedly been shot up with some sort of truth drug.

           The problem was that rather than feeling an inclination to answer questions, Raph was starting to experience a familiar warmth pooling in his gut. Whatever that serum was designed to do to humans, its effect on mutant turtles was vastly different.

           “Oh crap,” Raph murmured under his breath. His shell was getting tight in all the wrong places.

           “You hear that?” Zeke asked. “I think he’s gonna start talking.”

           Raph’s aroused groan was misinterpreted by the pair, who leaned in closer as they awaited the vital piece of information they’d been instructed to gather.

           In the next second a whirlwind descended on them. The lights went out and something hard struck them both on the head.

           Then a penlight snapped on and pinpointed the pair lying on the ground unconscious. Shouts could be heard in the distance and Raph blinked as the small pinpoint of light drew closer.

           The chains jangled as they were unlocked and removed. Though his vision was cloudy, Raph could still identify the olive green hands that were working feverishly to free him.

           “Can you walk?” Donatello asked, pulling his brother out of the chair.

           “Yeah, but it hurts,” Raph admitted, leaning on Don as the genius wrapped an arm around his shell.

           “What did they do to you?” Don asked, a mixture of concern and anger in his voice.

           “Shot me up with truth serum,” Raph answered groggily. “At least that’s what it was supposed to be.  Had a whole different effect on me.  Good thing ya’ got here when ya’ did ‘cause it was about to get embarrassing.”

           Don led him out of the room and into a hallway, already cleared of Dragons by the other two turtles.

           “Embarrassing how?” Don asked.

           “Let’s just say it’s painful walking with a major woody,” Raph said. “Ya’ wanna play doctor when we get back to the lair?”

           Hearing the salacious tone in Raph’s voice, Don grinned. “First I want a sample of your blood so I can replicate that stuff.  Then we’ll play doctor.”

 

** Essential Speed **

           “You just ran a red light,” Leo said, bracing himself with one hand on the dash board.

           “Did not,” Mikey said, whipping the van past a slower moving vehicle.

           Just ahead of them the traffic signal turned yellow and Mikey sped up, blowing through the intersection.

           “Yes you did and you nearly did it again,” Leo said.

           Mikey glanced in the rear view mirror before murmuring, “Side seat driver.”

           There was a faint sound of sirens from somewhere behind them. Leo looked back, verifying that the police cars were out of sight.  For the moment.

           “We’re ahead of them, but it won’t be long before others will be moving in to intercept,” Leo warned.

           “Can’t outrun the police radio,” Mikey said, swerving around traffic before hitting the accelerator again. “And you want me to stop for red lights.”

           Looking out through the windshield, Leo recognized the upcoming landmarks. “There, take a left,” he said, pointing towards the next cross street.

           Hands gripping the steering wheel, Mikey slid into the turn, the van’s rear end sending a trash can flying. He straightened out of a skid expertly and once more sped up.

           “Parking garage, on your right,” Leo said tersely.

           Mikey nodded, slowing just enough to execute the turn. Leo slapped a floppy hat on his brother’s head as Mikey braked to a skidding stop at the barrier arm.  Rolling down his window, Mikey lowered his head to shield his face from the camera and pressed the red button that would issue him a parking permit.  Once he’d taken the cardboard stub from the machine, the gate automatically lifted and Mikey accelerated into the garage.

           “What floor?” Mikey asked, taking the first ramp upwards.

           “Sixth, if there’s room,” Leo answered. “Not the top.”

           “Yeah, I know,” Mikey said, passing the third floor. “In case of helicopters.”

           They both heard the sounds of sirens growing louder and then fading again. Mikey reached the sixth floor, driving as far from the stairs and elevators as possible.  There was an empty space against a wall and he backed into it.

           Once he was parked, Mikey cut off the engine but left the keys in the ignition. Leo climbed into the back of the van, rummaged around in a storage box, and appeared a moment later.  In his hands were two screwdrivers, a replacement set of license plates, and a pair of magnetic vehicle signs that read “Green Team Plumbing”.

           With the speed born of practice, the brothers jumped out of the van, attached the signs to its sides, and changed the plates. When they were inside again, they looked at each other.

           “How long?” Mikey asked.

           “Minimum two hours,” Leo said. “We could head home on foot.”

           Mikey’s eyes widened. “Dude, if we ditch the van, Donny will skin us alive.”

           “So we sit here and wait,” Leo said, leaning back in his seat.

           His younger brother eyed him and then glanced into the back of the van. “I suppose we _could_ sit up here, staring out at this boring parking garage, twiddling our thumbs.”

           Hearing a certain tone in Mikey’s voice, Leo looked over at him.

           “You have a better idea?” Leo asked, fairly certain he already knew what it was.

           Mikey grinned and dove into the back of the van. Yanking a tarp out of the storage box, he spread it on the floor and then sprawled out on his carapace.

           With an inviting expression, Mikey said, “If the van is a rocking . . . .”

           Leo moved quickly to join him, finishing the quote, “. . .don’t come a knocking.”

           Fortunately, they were parked far enough away so that no one saw the van. Or heard the churrs coming out of it.

**Author's Note:**

> This lovely art certificate was created by: zivazivc (tumblr)  
> 


End file.
